“A little plantation!” echoed the captain. “’Od’s life, he has bought one of his Lordship’s own manors—­as good an estate as there is in the province.”

“You overdo it, Daniel,” said he, reprovingly.

At that moment there was a stir in the doorway, and in came Mr. Carroll, the barrister, and Mr. Bordley and Colonel Lloyd.  These gentlemen gave me such a welcome as those warm-hearted planters and lawyers knew how to bestow.

“What, he!” cried Mr. Lloyd, “I’m stamped and taxed if it isn’t young Richard Carvel himself.  Well,” says he, “I know one who will sleep easier o’ nights now,—­one Clapsaddle.  The gray hairs are forgot, Daniel.  We had more to-do over your disappearance than when Mr. Worthington lost his musical nigger.  Where a deuce have you been, sir?”

“He shall tell us when we come back,” said Mr. Bordley.  “He has brought our worthy association to a standstill once, and now we must proceed about our business.  Will you come, Richard?  I believe you have proved yourself a sufficiently good patriot, and in this very house.”

We went down Church Street, I walking behind with Colonel Lloyd, and so proud to be in such company that I cared not a groat whether Grafton had my acres or not.  I remembered that the committee all wore plain and sober clothes, and carried no swords.  Mr. Swain alone had a wig.  I had been away but seven months, and yet here was a perceptible change.  In these dignified and determined gentlemen England had more to fear than in all the mobs at Mr. Wilkes’s back.  How I wished that Charles Fox might have been with me.

The sun beat down upon the street.  The shopkeepers were gathered at their doors, but their chattering was hushed as the dreaded committee passed.  More than one, apparently, had tasted of its discipline.  Colonel Lloyd whispered to me to keep my countenance, that they were not after very large game that morning,—­only Chipchase, the butcher.  And presently we came upon the rascal putting up his shutters in much precipitation, although it was noon.  He had shed his blood-stained smock and breeches, and donned his Sunday best,—­a white, thick-set coat, country cloth jacket, blue broadcloth breeches, and white shirt.  A grizzled cut wig sat somewhat awry under his bearskin hat.  When he perceived Mr. Carroll at his shoulder, he dropped his shutter against the wall, and began bowing frantically.

“You keep good hours, Master Chipchase,” remarked Colonel Lloyd.

“And lose good customers,” Mr. Swain added laconically.

The butcher wriggled.

“Your honours must know there be little selling when the gentry be out of town.  And I was to take a holiday to-day, to see my daughter married.”

“You will have a feast, my good man?” Captain Daniel asked.

“To be sure, your honour, a feast.”

“And any little ewe-lambs?” says Mr. Bordley, very innocent.

Master Chipchase turned the colour of his meat, and his wit failed him.